Once a year we celebrate
Some unruly Irish saint
With our Friday evening fun,
Although it’s Tuesday, and only 1:00.
If you’re a kid not wearing green
It’s better that you not be seen,
For this day’s for the violent sort.
Pinching’s an encouraged sport!
And tomorrow, on goes the fun
As we avoid noise and the bright sun.
So read this poem tomorrow at noon,
And you’ll know why you fell asleep in the bathroom.
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I thought about it.
Then I thought and thought some more,
Yet I still wrote this.
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This poem: you might find
Reading it is kinda tough
Because it touches on
Things like vaguery and stuff.
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To me you’re like an insert thing here^
Full of double meanings
Absent of rhyme or reason
Or punctuation
You make my anatomy act
In a way appropriate for anatomy
In a situation of extreme emotion
Such as sweating
Swelling^
Or accelerated heartbeat
You make me want to write iridescent
Not because you are
But because it sounds pretty
And you like pretty things
Like diamonds
And Benjamin Franklin
This poem is not a pretty thing
I am writing it in bed
By myself
Shortly after waking up
At 4:30 PM*
I am alone
I have B.O.**
I have cable***
And five hours before bedtime****
Although it’s not a meaningful term
Because I might not leave my bed
Rehashing of the similarity
Between you and the object
Which was inserted in the first stanza^
Because after all
This poem is about you****
Happy Valentine’s Day
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
*Untrue, but it makes me seem pitiful
** Probably true. Can’t tell due to nasal fatigue.
*** Also Untrue
**** See ***
^That sounded naughty…
Filed under Poems, To the Reader
A vision achieved,
A dream come true,
And it’s coming
To a website near you!
I’ve promised at length
To take this blog far,
Whether through labor
Or a wish on a star.
Through a small bit of both
I’ve published a book!
And I want you, dear reader,
To have the first look.
By Valentines Day
It will be on the shelves,
Placed there by dozens
Of book-placing elves.
And once it’s available
You’ll have the full scoop.
‘Til then I leave you
With this poetical whoop…
Filed under Poems, To the Reader
Dolphins are smart and playful,
But incapable of talking.
Why hasn’t someone hooked them up
To speak like Stephen Hawking?
Not even hollywood has thought
To contemplate that scenario
Instead the make “Sharknado 3.”
It must be they just don’t care-io.
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Twenty-five percent at breakfast,
And again for lunch and dinner.
It’s come as no surprise
That I am getting thinner.
Five dollars to the bus driver,
Ten dollars for the maid,
A fifty dollar dinner
If I’m wanting to get laid.
I’d tip my chiropractor,
But that isn’t apropos.
Sometimes I tip a homeless guy
I do not even know.
As you can see, I am
A very easy tipper.
Here’s a buck for reminding me
To examine my zipper.
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Here it is: The final day.
The year that was will fade away.
With this poem I complete my goal
To write a poem a day, each somewhat droll.
And so completed, I look ahead
From the unfair comfort of my bed.
I feel happy and somewhat zen,
And I think I’ll do it all again!
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Pretty much everything
Goes well most of the time,
But every now and then
One can’t think of a rhyme.
I’d written the first couplet,
But not the one that followed it.
‘Twas on the tip of my tongue,
But, alas, I think I swallowed it.
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‘Twas a short and hectic year
That crawled by a month at a time.
I ended most days with sleep
And started all with a rhyme.
I was unemployed for a while
After graduation,
But somehow I survived
And avoid flagellation.
I discovered the forbidden joys
Of anime and manga,
Continued doing improv,
And never lined a conga.
Now I work with Aflac,
With my days spent on the road,
But when I go to sleep at night
My shoulders lose a load
Because when I pull the covers
Over my weary head
I’m an undercover agent
Whom no government wants dead.
‘Twas a five-and-a-half stanza year.
Thanks for laughing with me here.
Filed under Poems, To the Reader
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